


This Road.

by Michaelssw0rd



Series: 30 prompts. [9]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, I don't know what to tag this, M/M, slightly philosophical take on life?, team-spirit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 06:42:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8738746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michaelssw0rd/pseuds/Michaelssw0rd
Summary: John had been walking the road for a long time. Ever since he could remember actually.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while back and forgot about it, but i really should work on finishing the 30 prompts thing. So here we go. I enjoyed writing it, it's a really different style than my usual.

Step. Raise your foot, bring it down, stabilize, raise the other foot, bring it down…

And repeat.

One step followed by another, endlessly.

John had been walking the road for a long time. Ever since he could remember actually. There were no shoes on his feet, and the tar under his soles was scorching hot sometimes, feeling like he was standing on burning coals. Other times, it was ice-cold. He had not yet decided which was worse. Sometimes there were thorns that broke skin and made him bleed. At other times there were poisonous insects that latched on and stung.

But he needed to keep walking. That’s what he had been told. That’s what every other person around him did too.

Because he wasn’t the only one on this path, even if he walked alone. Some of the other people walked in groups and John envied them. Some wore tattered boots and some beautiful and strong heels. Some had coats, and as John shivered in the bitter cold he remembered once he had some measure of protection too, until it was stolen from him.

Because the road was dangerous. There were no laws. Only you were responsible of protecting yourself.

He was tired, tired of the endless march, his feet bleeding, his calves aching and his spirit broken. There was a myth: that there would be an end to this, a beautiful garden, with roses and lakes and soft grass. Some days, you could see a glimmer of it and quickened your steps. But it was a mirage. Never real.

Eventually, he gave up. One day, he stumbled and fell, and refused to get himself up again, and just lay there, waiting for the hoard of people to trample him. He would welcome it.

“ _Get up Mr. Reese_.” A voice made him look up to a short bespectacled man.

“ _I can’t. I don’t have the energy_.”

“ _Grab my hand_.” He extended his palm, and John was amazed at the fact that someone was lending him support- people always snatched things from him, never offered anything. Curious he took it. “ _You can call me Mr. Finch._ ” He said, and continued to walk- limp, John was horrified to notice; the road had taken its toll on Mr. Finch too- matching John’s pace.

Walking with Finch, John realized, was easier. He stumbled as usual, but someone to grab his shoulder to straighten him and help him stay upright, was welcome. Sometime later, a black woman came and started walking on his other side, giving him a dazzling grin and saying, “ _Hi John_.” She had a tendency to smack him fondly on his head when he staggered, but it was just as grounding as Finch’s support.

Fusco covered his back a while later, grumbling and complaining, but John realized how safe it was. He no longer had the urge to turn and watch out for anyone sneaking up on them. The road still blistered his feet, but he could walk more steadily.

John had finally found something to hold on to, and he protected it. When a barrage of arrows came from the skies, he covered the rest and took the barbs to his back. The fact there were people to clean and dress his wounds made the pain almost worth it.

Bear came as a surprise. The dog, yipping around, nuzzling against John’s and Harold’s legs, and then circling them. It was an extremely pleasant surprise.

There came a time, when John forgot why he had ever wanted to quit the journey. They were a company of six and the dog now, Shaw walking in front of him, flipping him the bird whenever he protested to being coddled. Protecting and being protected. That’s what it meant to be a team. If a hail of bullets came their way, there was a fifty-fifty change that someone would beat him to bear the worst of it, but they had their own ammo now. With their number, grew their strength. A pack. Very few were foolish enough to mess with them anymore.

Maybe there was no oasis waiting at the end of the road. Maybe this eternal track was all there was ever going to be, the promise of heaven just a cruel joke. He looked at Harold and realized he was gazing back, tenderness in his eyes.

Or maybe, there really was an end to this voyage, but suddenly he wasn’t interested in it anymore. John moved his hands to lace his fingers with Harold’s, and couldn’t help thinking that,

_If the journey was so beautiful… why would he ever want it to end?_

 


End file.
